


Don't Kill Roman

by wonthetrade



Series: my head's not bowed [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Rule 63, Swearing, bonus appearances by other players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The subtle (and not-so subtle) ways the Girl Brigade lets Roman Josi know his shit won’t fly, and the one guy who doesn’t care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Kill Roman

**Author's Note:**

> As promised!
> 
> If you got here by searching yourself or someone you know, turn back now. It's for your own health and safety.
> 
> This fic parallels '[I only wish I had the strength to let it show'.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5728102)

**Sid & Dani**

The text is on her phone when she wakes up from her pre-game nap. There’s always something new from the Girl Brigade in the group chat and Sid lets out a long-suffering sigh as she thumbs it open. 

She doesn’t get it right away, has to scroll up a handful of messages (she hadn’t been out that long, god) to find Steph’s original text:  _ Roman’s off limits. _

Sid’s temper spikes. She knows Steph isn’t talking about romantic or sexual limits even without Mike’s long explosion of capitals below it. It certainly doesn’t seem like the other women like Steph’s decree either and Sid has to suck in a deep breath and close her eyes against her own rather violent instinctual response. 

Sid’s heard about what happened to Steph, of course. There’s some sort of unwritten rule that the women have worked out where Sid finds out everything eventually, and would have without Mike making the call to her personally. There are very few things Sid isn’t told when the smoke all clears, like they’re obligated to tell her when shit’s going to hit the fan, not that Sid misses the implication. She’s the first, and while she may not be the oldest, she knows the women all think she paid some sort of dues as the First Drafted. 

(Sid doesn’t see it that way. Sid sees it as  _ hockey _ , as the only place she was ever going to end up. Her parents have always said she’s too determined for her own good, but for her, the NHL was where she wanted to be, so she made it happen. 

What she had to endure to get there… it’s nothing compared to what she has now.)

She puzzles through what to say while she showers, while she methodically puts on her game day suit. She takes her time braiding her hair, and keeps herself out of the group chat until she hits Consol. 

It’s a testament to how angry she is that she breaks her own rule and pulls out her phone over her customary PB&J.

_ If Steph wants us to back off, we back off. Period. _

It’s the party line and not even close to what she wants to say but Sid is also very aware that when it comes to the women in the NHL, her word is law. She doesn’t like pulling it out all the time because she doesn’t like having quite that much responsibility, but she has an example to set. 

Still, her team knows that something’s bubbling just under the surface. She’s not good at making a secret of it with them. After almost a decade with some of them, they know her every move. She is not surprised at the shoe that kicks her yellow Crocs gently.

“Sid?”

She tries to smile for Geno, knows he worries more than the others. “I’m okay,” she says, because it’s true. She’s fine. She can’t do anything in Pittsburgh anyway and it would be weird to make a special trip to Nashville. Sid’s pretty sure that’s Michaela’s job anyway. 

Geno hums, sits for a moment in the stall that should be Duper’s. Sid’s still not over that, even if she understands it. “Not look happy.” 

Sid closes her eyes, tries to settle herself. She doesn’t lose it in the locker room. She has too much practice in channelling it into her play to lose it in the locker room. “I’m okay,” she says again, this time a little bit quieter. “Taylor’s okay. My parents are okay.” 

He’s silent next to her for a moment before he says, “Girls okay?”

Sid huffs and knows it’s enough of an answer. 

“You need to go?” he asks, because of course he gets it, gets that Sid feels responsible for them all.

“No.” But she sucks in a heavy breath. “No.” 

She feels him pat her shoulder, opens her eyes to see the smirk on his face. “Is hard when little birds leave nest. Don’t worry. You still good mom.”

“Fuck you, Geno.” 

He grins. 

 

There are plenty of Penguins who are extremely familiar with how she carries tension. It threads through the room as they get ready, an intensity that leaves them pumped and raring to get on the ice. She can tell Sullivan’s too new to get what has them all revved up, but her guys know. 

Sid takes her anger out on hockey. Which means, in short, any of the team members who are familiar with this kind of tension are very aware that from the minute she steps on the ice, she’s going to put up points. Lots of points. If she’s really, really good, career night points. 

It’s been a long time since Sid was this blindingly angry over the Girl Brigade. 

She stretches her neck out from side to side as the time creeps closer, watches Kuny’s leg stutter, Horny’s eyes glitter. They know, and they’re ready. They’re excited. Sullivan looks a bit baffled, and when Sid looks back on the night, she’ll probably laugh, but for now, she has work to do.

She has a game to win. 

Geno’s grin is shark-like when they pause at the door to the dressing room for their customary handshake, his eyes warm and sparkling as they bump helmets, as he pats her ass. “Break own record?” 

It makes her snort, amusement overriding intensity for a moment. “Let’s not get too excited.” 

But Geno’s grin is so, so, so wide. “Too late. Told Mario to watch.”

“Mario always watches,” Sid retorts, twisting her stick in her hands as they make their way down the halls of Consol. 

The ice is a clear, smooth sheet beneath her feet as she gathers speed during warm ups, loops around and around, plays a little bit of keep away, practices some stick handling, goes with the guys to the net to surround Flower. The team is giddy, laughing, ready and Geno can’t stop sending her this gleeful, predatory grin. It isn’t until she does one last pass of the bench before setting up for the faceoff that Sid returns that smile. 

The cat calls from the Penguins follow her to the faceoff circle, across from Henrik Sedin, who takes one look at her and actually, legitimately blanches. Sid’s grin widens. 

_ Game on _ . 

 

Two periods later in the visitor’s locker room, it falls to another woman to deal with the fallout. Miller is sitting in his stall, shell-shocked, Burrows is nursing a cut lip from a high-sticking, and Virts looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Henrik turns to his twin. “Are you going to do something about this?” he murmurs in Swedish.

Danielle sends him an unimpressed look. “Of course I will.”

“Because she hit Miller in the  _ face _ , Dani,” he continues.

Dani just barely represses the urge to smack him on the head. “I  _ know _ that, Henke, but I cannot do anything about it right now. Sid needs to play out whatever frustration she’s dealing with. I will talk to her afterwards.”

“Afterwards won’t help us win the game,” he grumbles.

“I hate to say it, but that’s probably already a lost cause.” She shakes her head, impressed despite herself. “But don’t worry. Set me up and I’ll get some of our own back.”

 

After the game, Dani is waiting outside the home locker room, her face entirely devoid of any emotion. “Come on, Sid,” she says in a voice brooking no argument. Sid goes because, well, it’s Dani. As they head down the hallway, she can all but hear the collective sigh of relief from the rest of the Pens’ staff and players. If Sid were a lesser person, she’d probably give them all the finger.

The Uber driver’s eyes nearly pop out of her head when Dani and Sid get into the car. “Where are we going, Sid?” Dani asks, cool as ice. Sid wishes she felt that way right now. Even with the win, she still wants to hit something. Preferably Roman Josi.

Sid rattles off the name of a quiet little brewpub where the owners know her and always give her a nice, private table at the back.

Dani wastes no time once they’re seated, asking for a very nice bottle of vodka, two shot glasses, and lots of water. “Drink,” she tells her flatly, topping up their shot glasses. “You terrified my rookies tonight.”

Sid slams back the shot, thanking her long acquaintance with Geno for the fact that the burn is welcome, rather than cough-inducing. “Aren’t you angry?” she asks.

Dani sighs. “This is about Steph, isn’t it? I thought so.”

Sid huffs. “This is exactly what we didn’t want to happen. I told you we should have made rules.”

“Then you and Malkin would break them, wouldn’t you?” Dani retorts, her mouth tilting up in a smirk. 

“Geno’s not going to break my heart.”

It’s said so thoughtlessly that Dani almost challenges it. Sid’s never sounded so sure of anything that isn’t hockey related. “Steph’s a big girl.”

Sid fixes Dani with a look that Dani, for all she doesn’t play with Sid, recognizes all too well. The only thing Sid takes more seriously than hockey is the way the women relate to each other, both on and off the ice. It had been one of the first, one of the most serious, and simultaneously one of the funniest conversations Dani’s ever had with her. But sometimes Sid takes her perceived responsibility to keep the women’s reputations squeaky clean too seriously. 

Dani considers rolling her eyes. Somewhere along the line, it’s become Dani’s responsibility to watch out for Sid. “If there was a problem, Michaela wouldn’t still be in Washington.” 

“Michaela will do anything for Steph,” Sid retorts. 

“And so will you. So will all of us.” Dani watches Sid sigh and accept an uncharacteristic second shot. “Which is what we’re doing, letting this go.” 

“I don’t like it,” she says sullenly.

This side of Sid always makes Dani want to laugh. She’s so conscious of her image that it’s something very few people ever get to see. Dani’s just glad she allows herself that vulnerability every once in awhile. “Do you think any of us like it? But you know as well as I do that we can’t just go around beating up every single guy or girl who breaks someone’s heart.”

Sid squints at her. “Did you and Marinette-?”

That makes Dani laugh. “We’ve had our problems, as all couples do. But I was the more problematic one, uprooting her so that I could come here and play with Henke, because we’d vowed to do so as children.” She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Steph will be all right. Not right now, perhaps, but she will be.”

“Yeah.”

She looks closely at Sid, notes the way her shoulders are down and relaxed now, the way her fingers are loosely curled around the shot glass. “Feeling better now?”

“A little,” she admits.

“Good.” Dani pours another shot. “Now drink up. You owe me this, at least. My rookies are never going to be the same.”

Sid lets out one of her little giggle-honks, and obliges.

 

**Mallory**

The Bruins locker room has seen plenty of fits and outbursts over the years, but none quite like this. Even Coach Julien is a little taken aback when Mallory, who has so far proven to be one of the most sanguine goalies in the entire league, completely loses her shit.

She can’t help it, really. Her phone has been going off nonstop and curiosity got the better of her. All it takes is one glance and suddenly she is seeing red, kicking her stall repeatedly and swearing the worst blue streak any of her teammates have ever heard from her.

It’s not so much that Steph’s called off the dogs. No, it’s the fact that her heart is broken over something that shouldn’t even be an issue. Mal shouldn’t have let Carey talk her out of pulling some strings during the All-Star Game. With or without the trade, Steph would still have the big, stupid, Swiss lump she insists on loving.

Ugh. Just the thought of him makes her want to hit something.

A shadow falls over her and big hands land on her shoulder. It looks like Big Z has drawn the short straw. “Mal? What’s wrong? Is there bad news?”

“Bad” is not the word she’s looking for. Laughable, maybe. Insane is another. But she’s not about to spill Girl Brigade woes all over the locker room, no matter how fucked up she finds the whole situation. As a goalie, she can’t even really retaliate the way others can. But deep down she knows that with the way she feels right now, nothing is getting past her tonight.

Finally, Mal takes a deep breath, feeling everything settle. “Just some people being idiots, Z,” she says, putting her phone away and turning around. Some of the guys are staring at her with wide eyes and honestly, shouldn’t they know by now? Just because she’s easy-going most of the time, just because she likes to joke around, does not mean she doesn’t have a temper. And she knows many of them have seen a woman on the warpath, it’s the fucking Eastern Conference.

“Are you still okay to play?” he asks cautiously.

Mal bares her teeth in a feral grin. “I’d like to see someone stop me.”

Her intuition hold true and she posts her first NHL career shutout that night. Unfortunately, the irritation is still rolling through her as she packs up her gear and leaves the rink, grateful that no one even attempts to get her to come out with them. The seething, roiling feelings inside her are so bad that when she grabs her phone, she dials rather blindly. 

“Mal! Favourite sister! That was a crazy shutout-”

“If you ever hurt Carey, you will not be able to show your face in the Subban household Pernell Karl, do I make myself clear?”

“What?” 

Yelling at PK is easy. “If you are fucking stupid enough to break Carey’s heart, I will bury you. I will put you six feet under before you can fucking blink, brother or no brother. I will make sure every fucking member of the Bruins, Canucks, Preds, Stars, Penguins, Sabres, hell even the Habs, crushes you into the boards on every opportunity, no matter what Carey says so help me god-” She runs out of air and takes a deep breath, ready to continue on-

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. First of all, never going to fucking happen, okay? You know I’d rather cut out my own damn heart than hurt her.” Some of her rage burns itself out because she knows that’s true. PK has the softest heart when it comes to the people that truly matter to him, and Carey’s at the top of that list. “Second...what happened? Was it one of the other girls?” She can all but hear him going down the list before he sucks in a breath. “It was Steph, wasn’t it? Something beyond the trade?”

She rubs her forehead. “Yeah. But she called us off.”

“And you gotta respect that,” he says sympathetically. “Did this help you with the shutout?”

“I might have imagined we were playing the Predators,” she admits.

His laughter is warm and fond, easing off some of the tension. “Well, you made your point in your own way then, didn’t you? I’m proud of you, little sister.” And despite everything, despite the fact that he’s her annoying big brother, despite the fact their organizations have an epic rivalry, his opinion still matters the most.

They chat absently about their parents while Mal picks at a loose thread on her sweats. She’s calmer, but not great and not even some he’s-not-here-to-defend-himself chirping about Jordan can completely settle her before they both say goodbye.

Ten minutes later, Carey calls her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more terrified in my life,” she says without preamble, and there’s no need to ask who she’s talking about.

Mal blows out a breath. She feels a little bad for yelling at PK, but it was something that had to be said. “Yeah. I kind of had to take it out on somebody, you know?”

“Sometimes a good game, or even the best kind of game, isn’t good enough.”

She knows this, she really does. This is her first NHL shutout and it should be enough. But it’s not and she’s so, so glad that someone else gets it. “Yeah.”

“I know you want to kick his ass. We all do. But Steph asked, and we’ll let it go,” Carey says soothingly. “You’re doing the right thing by channeling it all into some fucking great play. Keep doing it. Let Rask know that you’re coming for him.”

Tuukka had actually texted her after the game, a simple thumbs-up. “Oh, he knows.”

Carey’s voice gentles. “And you know you don’t have to worry about me and PK, right?”

“Logically, I do. I just...wasn’t thinking logically.”

Carey lets out a commiserating sound. “I’m not sure any of us are right now.”

She’s not wrong. “It’s so stupid. Everything is so stupid.”

Carey just says, “Yeah.” 

 

**Jordie & Tyler**

_ Roman is off limits. _

Jordie seriously considers throwing her phone at the wall. Well, whipping is probably a better descriptor. She wants to whip her phone at the wall, even though she knows damn well that it won’t help the defensive fury that’s rising up in her chest. 

When Tyler bursts through the door not five minutes later, she doesn’t look any happier than Jordie. 

“Can you believe this bullshit?” Tyler asks, brandishing her phone like Jordie had missed Steph’s message and Mike’s angry response. Very angry response. It’s maybe the one thing that’s keeping Jordie on her couch rather than halfway to the airport. 

“She’s calling off the dogs, man. What the fuck?”

Jordie has to close her eyes so she doesn’t match Tyler temper for temper. “Who the fuck knows.”

Tyler flops to the couch. “Jesus. I told everyone Steph’s mushy heart was going to get her in trouble. And now look what’s happened.” 

Jordie cracks an eye. There’s the pot calling the kettle black if Jordie’s ever heard it. Tyler huffs. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah.” 

And she does. Because the crux of the matter is this: even if it were Tyler, and Jordie had to kick her own brother’s ass (because that is a thing, it’s a big thing, it’s just a thing literally everyone is avoiding like it’s the plague and Jordie is not about to tell Tyler she’s going to get hurt here because she loves Jamie to bits but sometimes he’s damn  _ stupid _ ), she’d do it. Without hesitation. Especially on the ice when they have their little scrimmages during practice. Brother or no brother, she’d be genetically obligated to take him out. 

Well, and she’d probably want to. When it comes to Tyler, Jamie kind of has a history of being an idiot. Not that Tyler is innocent in the whole thing, but Jordie figures Sid can kick Tyler’s ass when she needs it. Jamie is one hundred percent Jordie’s territory. 

Which is neither here nor there when it comes to Steph though. Jordie knows for a fact that besides Jack, who is new to the whole Girl Brigade thing, and Carey, who seems to engender the same protective instinct that Jordie’s feeling now, Steph is the one woman the Girl Brigade watches out for with a kind of particularly keen eye. It’s not that Steph can’t take care of herself, it’s that when it comes to people stomping all over her, she kind of has a giant blind spot. 

Especially when that person is Roman Josi. 

“Jordie. We can’t just… do nothing.” 

Jordie huffs. “It’s not like we’re getting a choice. Respecting Steph’s wishes here is the last thing I want to do, but she’s  _ specifically said no _ .”

Except then that night Sid puts up seven points against the Canucks, Mal gets a shutout, and Tyler is back at Jordie’s door. Even Jordie knows what fuelled that kind of play. Sid’s not generally subtle about hockey and Mal’s play just can’t be a coincidence. 

“That’s not a good face,” Jordie says in lieu of a true greeting.

Tyler’s grin is sly and smug, as she flips her phone in her hand. “I have a plan.”

Jordie side-eyes her, aware that Tyler has a reckless streak eight miles wide and therefore more than a little wary. “Should I worry?”

Tyler drops back against the couch and flicks open her Instagram. “Nah. Come here and look intimidating.” 

Well, Jordie can do that. Tyler starts humming as she fiddles with the settings, the filters, as she types her caption and Jordie is maybe a little embarrassed to make out ‘Run the World’. Tyler makes a triumphant noise then flips the phone around for Jordie to see. 

**@tseguin92:** _Get ready for it. #GirlBrigade_. 

Jordie huffs. “What good is that going to do?” 

Tyler is utterly unfazed. “Trust me.”

 

The next one Jordie isn’t even ready for, for a number of different reasons. For one thing, she can’t figure out how the hell Tyler managed to get a phone into practice. For another, it’s a little terrifying to think Tyler caught the video at exactly the right moment. 

**@tseguin92:** _We’re coming for you. #beastmode #GirlBrigade_ **@jordiebenn**

Jordie finds herself tapping on the video to find she and Jason during their end of practice scrimmage. Jordie’s always taken great pride in her ability to hit just as well as the guys do, and she’s never held back, even during these playful little games. So yeah, the hit isn’t exactly gentle. Still, Jordie’s eyebrow goes up. There can’t be any sort of doubt of what Tyler’s implying. 

“You really want to go there?” she asks Tyler across the locker room. The guys all look to her, arching an eyebrow but Jordie just wiggles her phone. 

Tyler’s face is damn stubborn, if Jordie says so herself. “Girl Brigade,” she says, like that’s explanation enough. 

There’s a fission of fear that ripples through the locker room and Jordie thinks maybe it is. 

 

Jordie picks up the next one. It’s her turn, after all. It’s not as good as Tyler’s (Tyler has an unrivalled social media skill, even if it’s sometimes a little too provocative or controversial) but it’s something that’s maybe been percolating in the back of Jordie’s mind for a few days. 

When Tyler works out, she goes hard. There’s never such thing as a ‘light workout’, no such thing as an ‘off day’. Not that it’s a secret to anyone. Tyler is proud of her body, proud of the work she’s put into it. So really, Jordie’s just taking advantage of something Tyler does anyway. 

The picture is of Tyler only, shining with sweat and in her sports bra and tight athletic shorts, her hair dropping over her shoulder in a long braid. It’s a stunning shot, as much as it is an intimidating one, given the way her muscles stand out in sharp relief, half way through a bicep curl. 

Jordie drops down to the bench with her and Tyler darts a glance Jordie’s way. “You look proud of yourself.”

“Uh huh. I got the next one.”

Tyler makes a low excited noise and all but drops the weight she’d been curling to shuffle into Jordie’s side. It’s only years of locker rooms and sweaty hockey players (not to mention the fact that she hasn’t exactly been slacking off in her work out today) that keeps her from flinching away from Tyler. Instead, she focuses on her phone, typing in her caption

**@jordiebenn:** _Preparing for a beatdown. #GirlBrigade_

“Ooh! That’s a good one. God, I hope Steph is seeing these.”

“Steph? Or the Preds?”

Tyler shrugs and Jordie thinks maybe it’s supposed to show that she doesn’t care. Jordie knows better. “Send me that pic? I’m going to tweet it too.”

So Jordie does, of course, and tucks her phone away. But later she gets a text from Tyler, a screen shot of her phone that sort of goes alongside all of the little alerts she’s been getting from Instagram. Mike’s already commented on the Instagram post, so has Jack and Brenda. Between that and the retweets Tyler’s screencapped for her, Jordie thinks there’s no way in hell the Preds haven’t seen it. 

Good. 

 

“We should do that.” 

Tyler looks over at her with an arched eyebrow. Which, you know, Jordie gets. She’s been a willing accomplice to Tyler’s social media campaign but suggesting that maybe they go axe throwing (because Jordie genuinely enjoys the lumberjack competitions, so sue her) seems to be taking it to a whole new level. 

Not that she’s about to back out when Tyler, much to Jordie’s surprise, actually agrees. It ends up being genuinely fun. The guys who run the place are helpful but respectful, and even Jordie preens a little when she catches more than a few of the other patrons eyeing the way her arms flex as she throws. 

Jordie isn’t surprised to find a video of her throwing an axe just left of dead centre (and hadn’t that pissed her off, dammit) on Tyler’s Instagram by the time they head back to Tyler’s place.

**@tseguin92:** _Protect my heart? Nah, I gotta protect my girls’. #squadgoals #GirlBrigade._

That earns them an actual call from an exhausted but less empty-sounding Steph. “I think you’ve made your point.”

Tyler snorts and shoots a look at Jordie. They’re on Tyler’s couch this time, Jamie puttering in the kitchen and Jason lounging in the arm chair. Tyler doesn’t care though. She’s got Steph on speakerphone. “We’re just getting started.”

“No you’re not, Segs.”

“Steph,” Tyler drawls out, a little hurt. “You won’t let us  _ do _ anything. It’s not like Jordie and I get to face him any time soon either.”

“There’s nothing to do. He made his choice and it’s not me.”

“It should be.” 

Okay,  _ that _ makes Jordie wince. Sometimes Tyler does take it a little far. She’s passionate and emotional - great things most of the time but she’s also a bit of a pitbull. So Jordie snatches the phone from Tyler’s grip. 

“They’re just pictures. A few videos. No one needs to know what it’s for.”

“Everyone knows what it’s for. Mike’s been texting me in excited capitals for a week.”

Maybe she’s a little proud of that. She exchanges smug grins with Tyler, sees Jason shake his head in fond amusement out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, we could have climbed on a plane.”

“I’m  _ fine _ .”

“Freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional? Yeah. So.”

Steph huffs. “Seriously. Cut it out.”

“Sure.”

She looks to Tyler, sees her nod. 

Yeah, they’re just getting started.

 

**Jack**

Even after a year, Jack’s still kind of getting used to what it means to be part of the Girl Brigade. It’s a tough cookie to crack, having these women who will not hesitate to slam her into the boards one minute and defend her to the teeth the next. It’s a sisterhood she’s not used to, not even with the way her friendship with Dylan Strome has been developing. 

Jack is used to guyfriends. Girlfriends… 

Except. 

_ Roman is off limits _ . 

Jack’s immediate thought is:  _ the fuck he is. _

Because while she may not be particularly used to girlfriends, the idea of not retaliating against Roman Josi for Steph’s broken heart is absolutely inconceivable. As far as Jack knows, Girl Code mandates some sort of retribution for a broken heart and Jack’s not stupid enough to think Steph is suffering from anything else. 

Well. And Mike had kind of spilled the beans on that one. Which Jack cannot be upset about because: Girl Code. 

Not that Steph has made it particularly difficult to see how gone over Roman she is. Jack would think it pathetic, if it weren’t for how stupidly gone she is over Connor. The difference really is that Jack doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve the way Steph does. Well, and Jack can be a cold-hearted bitch. That’s not a thing she’s accused of being without a lot of evidence to back it up. Okay, and the fact that Connor is indisputably hers. To the point where the world knew before she did. 

Totally not the point. 

The point is that Steph has now very explicitly told the women bottle up their anger that is quite fairly directed towards Roman, and Jack whole-heartedly disagrees. She finds out pretty quickly that she isn’t the only one. Sid’s seven-point game makes the news for days and Jack’s social media feed is full of Jordie and Tyler and their less than subtle undertones. She hears about Mallory’s explosion in the locker room too because Tyler still has guys on the Bruins she texts from time to time and a vindictive streak that makes Jack proud. 

Which means when Dan reminds them they’ll be facing the Preds a week later, Jack bares her teeth. 

She’s not going to maul him on-ice. She knows better than that, for one thing, and for another, Jack’s not sure that will be near as satisfying as explaining to him why he’s an idiot. 

Jack does nothing out of the ordinary on the ice. Sure, she plays a bit harder than some of the guys are used to, knows she has a weird sort of intensity rolling off her, but the guys just assume she’s particularly on tonight, and it shows in a multipoint night. So she might be on, but she also has a vendetta to settle. She and Steph are close and if she’s going to rip Roman Josi a new one, she’s not going to risk her friendship with Steph in the process. 

After the game is a different story. 

She rushes through her post game, leg jittering as Dan comes in to give them a little congratulations pep talk and essentially avoids the entire team’s eyes as she packs up. Then, she’s slipping through the halls of the First Niagara Center until she can lean against the wall outside the visitor’s locker room. 

Then she waits. 

She raises an eyebrow at the first handful of Preds that leave, all of them giving her a strange sort of look. She doesn’t feel intimidating, but they all avert their eyes as they pass. It’s Weber that actually stops first. 

“This about Roman?” he asks and bless him, because it makes Jack feel better about who had Steph’s back all this time. 

“Yup,” she says, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “We’re just going to have a little chat. I promise.”

Weber eyes her for a moment like he’s going to tell her to back off, to let Josi and Steph work this out for themselves. She’ll never know if it’s his own loyalty to Steph or something else that changes his mind, but he gives her a nod and walks away. Just in time for Roman to step out of the locker room and catch sight of Jack. 

She shoves herself off the wall. “You and me. Now.”

He arches an irritated eyebrow. “Kicking our asses isn’t enough?” 

“No,” Jack says simply. “You’re damn lucky Steph put out the word. You’re not facing close to what you could be for breaking her heart.”

“I didn’t-”

“Save it, Josi. We’ve all heard the story.” 

“You’ve heard her story.”

She rolls her eyes. “Two sides, huh? News flash: I don't fucking care. All I care about is the fact that my girl has been ripping her goddamn heart over you for years. And not only have you been stupid enough not to notice, you pull this.”

“Will you just-”

“No, I fucking won't,” Jack snarls. She's really and truly worked up now. She remembers the World Cup, and how absolutely defeated Steph had seemed talking about him. No one should ever have to feel that way, especially one of her girls. “This is Steph we’re talking about. Steph, who wouldn't hurt a fly. How much of a fucking jerk are you, to make her feel that way? Like she's worthless? Like this whole thing is her fault?”

She’ll give him credit, he looks both angry and horrified, not that it thaws her heart at all. On the contrary, she feels it flare, because if he’s dumb enough to put her through that when he could have had Steph the whole time she thinks she may actually kill him. Slowly and painfully for being this damn stupid. 

“How could you have been so blind, huh? Tell me that. Steph wears her heart on her sleeve, she’s been so, so obvious and you just what? Just…missed it?”

She expects him to snap back at her because yeah, he’s angry. Maybe he has the right to be. Jack doesn’t give two fucks. She’s not worried about him. Except that’s not at all what Roman does. 

“Yeah, I missed it, okay?” he demands.

It shuts Jack up better than any other argument.

His shoulders slump and only then does she see the dark circles beneath his eyes. “I missed it because she’s Steph. She’s… Steph. Of course I love her.”

She blows out a breath and runs her fingers through her hair. “Okay. Okay. You love her. Let’s pretend I believe that even for a second because, you know, if you did, you wouldn’t be in Buffalo, you would have chased her to Columbus because we both know how much she loves her Hallmark movies. So, let’s pretend you love her.” Jack leans in close, her eyes flashing. “What are you going to do about it?” 

To his credit, Roman does look like shit. “Nothing. Not a damn thing because that’s what she’s asked of me.”

“Huh. Did she, really?” Jack says straightening, maybe smug, maybe satisfied. She feels like she’s proven to herself, even in this moment, that this isn’t a man worthy of Steph’s heart. Not if he’s not willing to fight for it. She’s knows that twisted triumph is all over her face as she says, “Maybe you don’t love her after all.”

 

**Marcia**

_ He’s primed for you, if you’re game. _

Marcia bares her teeth in a grin. Oh, she is going to have so much fun when the Predators come to town. Sid might be the fairy godmother and Dani might be the oldest, but Marcia is the crazy aunt in this family and she takes that particular responsibility very seriously. 

She’s always done things differently. It’s what happens when you’re the ginger-headed stepchild of the family in almost every sense of the word. Only girl, only defenseman, only ginger, only bisexual...the list goes on.

It’s not like she’s going to ignore Steph’s edict. She’s not going to hurt him. But Marcia Staal did not become the first female defenseman in the NHL for nothing. Hell, she didn’t grow up with brothers for nothing. She knows plenty of ways to make him bleed without ever fighting him.

Even if she does want to rearrange that pretty little face.

Gameday dawns and she’s all but cackling with glee when she gets into the locker room. She must give off some sort of aura, because the rookies scatter at her approach and Ryan takes one look at her and sighs. “Do I want to know?”

Being captain sure does make old men of these guys sometimes. She ruffles his hair, knowing just how much he  _ hates  _ that. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Cap. I’ve got it all under control.”

“Please don’t put up any penalty minutes.”

“That’s cute. You and I both know that I don’t need to pull that shit.” She plops down next to Dan. “Roman Josi,” she mutters.

He nods. “Got it.”

She loves it when her partner gets her.

They time the first crush perfectly, waiting until Josi grabs the puck. Marcia nods at Dan and they both speed up until they’re bookending him. Marcia goes in hard, slamming him against Dan in a perfectly legal hit, stealing the puck in the process. When she looks over her shoulder, he’s shaking off the hit and she actually does cackle, making Nealer shudder.

“Why are you all so goddamn  _ scary _ ?”

“Aw, you know you’ve missed me, Nealer,” she coos, tossing her braid over her shoulder.

He actually turns white. “Fuck no.”

The second time Marcia and Dan crush him, Roman catches up to her and shoves her. “Back off,” he spits. She gives him a jaunty salute, and he skates off audibly grinding those bright, white teeth together.

The third time she does it, he’s almost prepared. Marcia barely has time to pass the puck off to Kreider when Roman shoves her back. “What the fuck is your problem?” he shouts.

Honestly, if it were any other time the gloves would be off already, but Marcia’s not about to go against her rookie. “What did I do?” she asks, wearing the wide-eyed look that never failed to get her brothers in trouble when they were kids. Hell, it still works every once in a while  _ now  _ and it most certainly works on the ice.

He blinks, taken aback, as they all are when she pulls the Marcia’s-a-girly-girl face. She keeps it one, for one beat, two, then gives him the Look.

The Look isn’t something Marcia’s ever seen herself, but she knows what happens when she uses it. She has been told she has scary eyes - ‘ghost eyes,’ Eric calls them. Combined with a smile, well. She once made an opponent in juniors pee his pants with them. “You screwed up, kid, and you’d better damn well fix it.” She skates in a little closer, and drops her voice. “You get one chance. I promise you, if you hurt her again, I will destroy you.”

The refs come in then to separate them and Marcia’s well satisfied by how shell-shocked he looks as he moves back to the bench. She catches Weber’s eyes and he gives her a minute shake of the head and a resigned little shrug.

While the Rangers lose in OT, Marcia’s still pretty damn satisfied with how everything turned out. She got her point across.

Mission accomplished.

 

**Mike**

She is absolutely, positively, fumingly angry. 

Actually, she’s beyond angry and quite thoroughly into livid territory. She’d been damn well enjoying a nice, quiet, pre-game afternoon, just debating dragging Tom into bed for their nap when Steph’s message had come through and Mike had seen red. There are very few things that get her angry like the pain of her friends. More than that, there are very few friends that have a habit of sending her off the deep end the way Steph Jones does. 

Mike loves Steph. Mike adores Steph. Mike sometimes thinks Steph wears her heart a little too plainly on her sleeve and has a habit of being a little too blind for Mike’s peace of mind. 

So, naturally, the minute Mike reads Steph’s message, the first thing she does is hit speed dial. And promptly gets Steph’s voicemail. 

“Oh fuck no,” Mike explodes. “If you think for one hot second I’m just going to let his pretty ass go, we need to have a talk about what kind of woman, what kind of fucking hockey player you think I am, Stephanie Jones. How fucking dare you take away the one outlet we have for getting him back. How fucking dare you pull the damn girl card when you know damn well the dude needs some sense knocked into him. Do not forget I listened to you sob out a broken heart on the other end of the phone and I swear to fucking god I am going to wring your neck for guilting Sid into taking your side.” 

Steph calls fifteen minutes later. “You’ve done enough, Mike,” she says softly, sounding tired and so, so woebegone that Mike’s fingers clench around her phone.

“No, I really haven’t.” Because a bunch of angry texts and one blistering phone call are nowhere near enough and if that’s all Mike’s going to have, well. It’s not enough.

_ Roman calls her back as they’re getting out of video review. “Mike?” _

_ “You ASSHOLE,” she shouts into the receiver, motioning for Tom to take the driver’s seat. “What the fuck were you thinking, hooking up with Steph last night when you damn well know how she feels about you?” _

_ “Mike-” _

_ “And then to just let her leave like that, I swear to god Roman you’re so lucky we have a game tonight because I’d fly out there right now and-” _

_ “MIKE.” And Roman sounds so exhausted and broken down that she shuts up, though she’s far from finished. “I woke up alone, and I really didn’t want to, okay?” _

_ She frowns. “What are you saying, that you wanted this?” _

_ “Of course I wanted this!” He sounds so wounded that she would even imply otherwise, but Mike is very, very used to Roman being idiot when it comes to Steph. “I don’t play with people, and I would never play with Steph.” He sighs, and there’s a scratchy, sandpaper-y sound, like he’s rubbing his hands over his face. “I’ve been...slow, but I’m trying to catch up.” _

_ “Well, you can start by telling her that,” she replies sourly. Roman has a hell of a lot to make up for, but this is hopefully a start. Even if she thinks he’s going about all of this ass-backwards, because why the hell would he sleep with her without talking to her first? Honestly, men. _

_ “Yes, I will. I was going to get her coffee first, that hazelnut latte she likes so much.” _

_ Mike looks up at the ceiling. “Get it with whipped cream.” _

_ “What?” _

_ She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Because if Steph’s feeling anything like she did when she called me, and trust me, she is, then she’s going to need it.” _

_ Roman makes a sound like all the air escaping from a tire. Mike doesn’t feel bad about that, not one bit. Not when she had to hear Steph cry her eyes out. “Okay.” He sounds incredibly subdued. Good. “I’ll do that.” _

_ “Just fix it, Roman. Or I might fly out there regardless.” _

Steph’s voice shakes her out of it. “Mike, it’s done now, all right? I’m in Columbus, Saader’s jumping through hoops to make me feel settled and...it’ll be all right, okay?”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate it when you do this?” Because she knows the distance is killing Steph, even if it is for the best. But honestly, if Roman doesn’t come to his senses soon and fly to Columbus…

Steph laughs, a little shaky, but with more sincerity than anything Mike’s heard in the last few weeks. “Yes, you have. And I’m grateful that you let me get away with it.”

A few days later, Mike’s really, really regretting that she allows Steph to talk her into inaction. Not when hockey news is all about Sid’s multi-point night, Mallory’s first career shutout, and how Marcia was being...Marcia. Then there’s Tyler and Jordie’s adventures on social media, and Mike’s a social media  _ darling _ , thank you very much.

The final straw is when Calle texts her, asking if this is what they do all the time.

_ What do you mean? _

_ Eichel had a chat with Roman after our game. He looked really shaken up. _

Mike swears a blue streak. Even Jack was in on the action? She feels useless, and a little angry that everyone else can take their anger out on Roman in their own little way and she...well, all she wants to do is rip his head off.

That’s right about when Tom comes in because of course he does. He looks strangely confused and a little wary. His eyebrows go up when he catches the look on her face and Mike legitimately growls as she tosses her phone onto the wardrobe and begins to pace. And because it’s Tom, he doesn’t immediately ask if there’s something wrong. He knows there is, so he just sits on the bed as Mike paces and catches her hand on one of the passes. 

“Steph didn’t want us retaliating against Roman, and we haven’t, not really.” She explains what all the other girls have been doing, and how utterly frustrated she feels because the one way she can really fight back is closed to her.

Tom, of course, doesn’t have to say anything but the look that washes over his face makes Mike raise an eyebrow mid-rant. “That’s your planning face.” 

Tom shrugs, offers her a little grin that makes her heart turn over warmly in her chest. “Trust me?”

“Idiot.”

“Then,” he says with a nod, “I’ve got your back.”

 

**+1 - Tom Wilson**

When the Capitals play Nashville, Tom is ready. Actually, he’s been preparing for this since Steph had woken both him and Mike up at a stupid hour of the morning sobbing on the other end of the phone line. 

He is, by nature, a defender, and not in the d-man sense. He and Mike are a lot alike that way. They’re the guys that get revenge for their on-ice brethren, whether it’s taking exception to the way Ovi’s slammed into the boards or a missed high-stick on Chimera (who can take care of himself, but), Tom and Mike have a system. 

Tom knows all about the epic saga that is Steph Jones’ relationship with Roman Josi. It’s a side-effect of being around Mike as much as he is because Mike, well. Tom’s learned that there are very few things Mike will not do for the women in the NHL and the sum total is basically ‘let them win’. Thus, when Steph puts out the call to the women that Roman Josi is to be left alone (which, Tom learns from Mike’s ensuing explosion, means no on-ice retribution for off-ice drama), Tom feels a plan forming. 

Steph has asked the women not to retaliate. She hasn’t said a damn thing about the rest of the league. 

Another lovely side-effect of his relationship with Mike is extending his defending to the people in her life that are the most important. Tom’s pretty sure Steph is number one, maybe even before some of the Caps and some of Mike’s family members. No one hurts Steph, so long as Mike has a say. 

And Mike, well. Mike is fuming. Mike is beyond fuming and even Trotz has noticed and Tom cannot sit around and do nothing when Mike feels that impotent. He knows for a black and white fact she’d do the same for him. 

So, he has a plan. Mike’s too angry to see it, but Burkie tugs him aside in the middle of drills during practice and says quietly. “You have a plan.” 

Tom thinks about denying it for a minute. More than a minute, actually, because while it is definitely okay for him to be maybe a little rougher than normal on Roman in a game, he’s not sure Mike will appreciate it. He’s pretty damn sure Steph won’t and he doesn't want to bring more heat onto Mike if he can avoid it. She’s going to take enough shit from Steph over what Tom is planning. 

“It’s no big deal,” Tom says carefully because he wants to give Burkie the chance to just let it go. Tom’s more than happy to bring the whole team in on this (he likes Steph, genuinely, she’s classy as fuck and he likes how happy Mike is when Steph’s around) but it can’t be his decision. 

Burkie glances across the ice where Mike is laughing as she digs out a puck in the corner, Oshie and Kuzy trying to squish her against the boards. “About Latts?” 

“Not really. She, uh…she’s got a friend that just had her heart broken.” 

Burkie nods solemnly and Tom would bet he knows exactly who they’re talking about. Everyone knows who Mike’s friends are. Still, Burkie’s face is utterly bland. “Nashville comes next.” Yeah. Burkie knows. He leans on his stick grinning. “It would be a shame to bruise up a pretty face.” 

Tom chokes on a laugh. “It would. So Mike won’t. It’s a girl thing.” 

“Ah,” Burkie says with a nod. “But not a guy thing.”

“No. Not a guy thing.” 

Burkie nods slowly, watches Mike slam Orlov a little harder into the boards than she should considering this is just practice. “We can...“ Tom gets the sense that Burkie’s not so much looking for the right English words so much as the right meaning behind them. Burkie’s English is really quite good. “Help?” 

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yep. We absolutely can.”

 

Roman looks like crap. Tom can at least admit that much as he watches Nashville warm up on the other end of the rink. It does nothing to engender his sympathy, really, but Mike’s kept him up to date with the way the Girl Brigade has come together around Steph and there’s a perverse part of him that’s glad Roman’s feeling it. 

Burkie falls into pace with him as they skate leisurely around their half, keeping the muscles warm. “What is your phrase when they look that bad?” 

Tom snorts. “Put through the wringer?” 

“That.” Burkie shakes his head. “No wonder no one crosses Latts.” 

“Latts can take care of herself,” Tom replies by rote. He’s said it more times than he can count, to Ovi, to Backy, to the rookies who think it’s their responsibility to protect her. 

“So can Jones, no?” 

“Don’t ruin my story with your logic.” 

Burkie grins and taps his stick against Tom’s as they hit the bench. “Don’t get caught.” 

Tom almost scoffs, but Burkie’s not wrong. Tom’s just not sure he’s more worried about what Trotz will say if he spends too many minutes in the box or what Mike will do when she finds out what he’s planning. She’s been watching him for days now, like he’s stupid enough to have that kind of thing written all over his face. Like he’s going to leave a battle plan spread out over the kitchen counter. 

It takes a couple of shifts before he’s matched up against Roman’s pairing and Tom barely hesitates. The second Toman has the puck, Tom’s on him, shoving him harder than is strictly necessary against the boards under the pretense of digging out the puck. 

“What the fuck,” he hears Roman grunt as Tom gets his stick on the puck and shuffles it Mike’s way. 

The second time, it just works in his favour. Roman doesn’t have his head up, too focused on lining up the shot and Tom gets in on the perfect line change to stop dead and let Roman run into him. Tom’s built tough enough that he barely slides on his skates and Roman goes sprawling, his momentum too fast for him to keep his feet. When Roman glares at him, Tom just grins. “Should pay attention, pretty boy. Never know what you’re missing when you’re not looking.” 

Roman looks completely betrayed, then livid for a split second before a wary Weber comes by to nudge him back to the Preds bench. Tom has to bite the inside of his cheek against the happy tune that he kind of really wants to whistle. 

“Do I want to know?” Trotz asks when Tom’s back on the bench. 

Mike’s on the other side of Burkie and Backy so Tom doesn’t feel so bad about flicking a glance her way. “Probably not.” 

Trotz nods and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Stay out of the damn box and we won’t have a problem.” 

 

But just because Trotz doesn’t seem concerned about what probably comes across as a very strange vendetta doesn’t mean Mike doesn’t eventually catch on. Given the way both he and Burkie (who Tom gleefully watched check Roman easily to the ice in a hit that scratches the edge of legal) aren’t really keeping a secret of their Nashville target, Mike nudging him during the intermission isn’t a surprise. She kicks out at his skate gently from her stall beside his. He arches an eyebrow at her, lets a little smile tilt the corner of his mouth. She echoes it, though it’s a little more subdued. 

“Mission accomplished, okay?” 

Tom frowns. 

“This isn’t what I thought you meant when you told me you had my back. I get that you’re defending Steph because I can’t,” she says, voice low. “But we’ve got it covered.” 

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” Mike promises, “And it’s really, really sweet of you, but this isn’t the first time one of us got hurt. You know how we handle it.” 

Tom gives her a mock shiver, just to see a little smile turn up the corners of her mouth. “It’s terrifying.”

Mike’s little smile shifts into a full-blown predatory grin that Tom’s pretty sure he only sees when she’s on the edge of retaliating against someone hitting Backy too hard for Mike’s liking. “Don’t break my heart and you’ll never have to find out.” 

Tom figures it’s a good thing he’s really not planning on it. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's entirely possible this was a little cathartic. At the very least, it certainly was fun!
> 
> For more Girl Brigade, come to tumblr and chat!:  wonthetrade. 


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